Partial Blindness


I wasn’t going to write today, despite the fact that I obviously need to. There are things going on in my life that are obviously identifying, and it would ruin the anonymity of this blog.

Unfortunately, it’s all that’s on my mind today. Absolutely all. My whole mind.

So I’m going to write, and we’ll see what comes of it. After all, I can always go back and delete things.

And after all, no one is really looking.

I just checked the analytics when I said that, and there were 6 visitors yesterday, when I wasn’t online at all. Probably robots. I haven’t checked my ad revenue. Stay safe, ad clicker.

I always expected my Father to die suddenly. Probably because, despite being incredibly healthy, he lives a lifestyle geared to physical stunts, fast cars, and reckless behavior. So far, he hasn’t died. I am still so scared. I don’t know how far he thought he could go, with absolute disregard of his past medical history.

There are invisible wolves that chase us, through our whole lives. These are the wolves that raise us. They are our pack. And these are the wolves that will hunt and kill us, howling in mourning while they do so. Of course, my Father doesn’t see it that way. He doesn’t see anything at all. He is going blind.

This is a terrible time to have a medical emergency.

I have always felt like I was ready for whatever was coming, whatever. My nightmares have constantly centered around apocalypse, and what I would do, several different kinds of disasters. My constant anxiety has forced me to always be prepared, otherwise I go crazy. My brother is the same way. It’s a genetic predisposition, given our family history.

I am not ready to lose my Father. I will never be ready.

While he has been a complete narcissist all of my life, and almost certainly all of his, I can say with the utmost confidence that there has never been anyone in My life that there has never been, and most likely never will be, anyone that has known and understood me better. If he leaves my life will be utterly and entirely without a point of reference. I have both loved and hated him for it, but he has been my entire model of behavior in my life.

I have never been so scared in my whole life.

I said that, and that’s a lie.

Probably one of the reasons that I constantly have nightmares about him dying suddenly is that he almost has, several times. I should be ready for this, at some point. I’m not. Maybe my brain is slowly trying, through exposure therapy, to get me ready for what it knows has a high probability of happening.

Strangely, when I sit down here, with all the space in the world to say anything I want, I am without words.

I just have to figure out what I can do. I went to the pharmacy and several stores to stock up, and am starting 14 days of quarantine today. Absolute isolation, none of my science friends, no neighbors, no side dude, and this boy is just out of luck entirely.

As an addendum I realized that I never even mentioned my boyfriend.

I was texting him last night, and it dawned on me that that coincidences are absolute bullshit.

Legg’d like a man! and his fins like arms! Warm, o’ my

troth! I do now let loose my opinion, hold it no longer: this is no

fish, but an islander, that hath lately suffer’d by a thunder-bolt.

[Thunder.] Alas, the storm is come again! My best way is to creep

under his gaberdine; there is no other shelter hereabout: misery

acquaints a man with strange bedfellows. I will here shroud till the

dregs of the storm be past.

The Tempest Act 2, scene 2, 33–41

This is a line by Trinculo, the character I played in my first ever stage appearance (yes, ad clicker, I have been an actress my entire life, a fraud for a living) and my favorite Shakespeare play. As an islander, I identify with the colonialist overtones and am taken with the psychology of the piece.

I fully believe that Shakespeare was Black.

But it occurs to me, that in this strange, strange time, I am nothing but the strange bedfellow of this boy.

Used and objectified by yet another white boy.

Last time my side dude was over, he used up the last paper towel on the roll and threw it in the trash.

I’m going to wrap it up, I’ve got tons of shit to do today.

2 Comments Add yours

  1. Anna says:

    Deals with God don’t work not because he is not good enough to hold up his end of the bargain, but because we are not good enough to hold up ours.

    By asking God for miracles, we are in our very essence asking for things we can not do, and we offer in return things we also, for different reasons, can not do.

    That is why every deal is actually with the Devil. We curse him for tricking us, but really he just tricked us into thinking that we were good enough to make good on our end of the deal, or even more foolish, that we could outsmart him.

    God gives gifts and expects nothing, because that is the best we can do.

    We are the Devils, always asking for things.

    My poor Father.

  2. Anna says:

    Good news today, Thank God.

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